The Darkest Curse
by prittyspeshul
Summary: Snow's thoughts on the life her daughter should have had.


Feeding a baby at 6 AM had its benefits.

Or so Snow was trying to convince herself, staring into her mug of tea (no coffee for the nursing mama, no ma'am) and watching the sky lighten to the sort-of-almost predawn blue gray that passed for morning in Maine winters. She saw no point in fighting herself back to sleep for an hour or two, when the rest of the blissfully sleeping household would awaken and begin their own morning routines. They would try to be quiet, but she was a mother and therefore sound sleep no longer existed for her. She could hear a hiccup down the hall.

She stood, preparing to haul herself back upstairs and maybe wake her husband up for some special alone time (she had needs under normal circumstances, and her hormones were at an all time high right now), before she caught sight of Emma on the couch. Graciously, she had given up the cot to their royal guest, a decision which Snow was more than positive she was regretting thoroughly (she and Charming had fallen asleep on that couch post-Neal making one night, and both had woken up with back pain so monstrous that it hinted at their real ages). Her daughter was curled tightly into a ball, using the armrest of the couch as a makeshift pillow. Her blanket, however, had slid down until it covered only her legs. Snow's mothering instinct was not to be denied; especially now that she had baby Neal, she was acutely aware of every single piece of Emma's childhood she had missed, and she was damned if she wasn't going to at least give her elder baby some loving when she could.

She quietly approached the couch, reaching for the blanket to pull it up over her daughter's shoulders. Emma didn't move, her breathing steady with the deepness of an exhausted sleep; motherly instincts still screaming, Snow brushed some blonde strands out of her relaxed face and tucked them behind her ear. She knelt and pressed a kiss to her forehead, feeling the ache of all she had missed and the gratitude for what they had keenly. The sight of a familiar puff of white tucked into her daughter's arms caught her breath in her throat, and she fell back a step or two.

There was no mistaking that baby blanket. Not after the hours she had spent carefully stitching every fiber of her fear and worry and hope and cautious joy into it, every tear and pricked finger and silent prayer that she would see her baby girl swaddled in it safely, in her arms, not being dragged away by her armed husband, not being settled into the wardrobe never to be seen again.

Snow backed heavily into the counter, sliding to the ground and pressing her hand to her mouth to stifle the small outcry of pain and the following gasping sobs. She regained herself quickly, but her heart still beat too fast and too forcefully.

Emma kept it. Her baby girl had kept that blanket, that tiniest scrap of who her parents were and who she was meant to be, the life she was supposed to have.

Thoughts of the beautiful nursery, ruined by age and curse and disuse, fluttered unbidden to her head. That was what Regina had robbed them all of; no, it was what they had all stolen from themselves, through cruelty and misunderstanding. A happy, laughing little girl, pride of her mother, apple of her daddy's eye, learning to talk, walk; playing in the cool shadows of the castle gardens and the deeper shadows of the woods; being taught how to ride a horse and against all tradition learning to use a bow and a sword, because both her parents knew and _why can't I, too, mommy_; taking lessons in how to play with magic, how to experience and dwell in the power that ran through her veins by birthright; traveling the realms, enchanting all she met with her charm and wit and sparkling green eyes; dresses and gowns and dancing, even though somehow Snow knew already that Emma wouldn't have liked those lessons, and balls and princes and the lavish banquets. Seeing her baby girl grow up and watching her blossom into the incredible woman she had become, watching her take over the kingdom with a little bit of her trademark clumsiness and all of her tenacity, watching her fall in love and marry and have babies of her own…

She had missed it. All of it. She wasn't there to soothe nightmares or broken hearts, wasn't there to kiss away fevers or hold hands when she crossed the street, wasn't there to help with homework or boy troubles or just being a lonely, scared little kid.

For a moment, she understood the weight of what they had laid on their child's shoulders. At the time, it had seemed so obvious, the only choice: save the child, save their way of life. But looking at the living, breathing product of that decision, she felt something suspiciously like guilt for the life their world, her world, that she herself had forced upon her daughter.

They had been cursed, yes, but they had cursed Emma more powerfully.

At least they all knew a life without a curse. For the Savior, the newborn baby savior who held the hopes of an entire realm on her tiny shoulders, that curse had both caused and shaped her whole life.

Her eyes were damp, and she realized with a start that Emma was awake, blearily staring at her across the room.

"Mom? 's everything okay?"

And the word, still rusty in her mouth but she was trying, so hard, and the edge of concern underneath the sleepiness brought Snow to the brink, but she held it back, biting the inside of her lip to hold it together. "Nothing… just still getting over the pregnancy hormones, I guess."

Emma nodded, apparently too half-awake to use her superpower effectively (although, Snow stubbornly thought, it wasn't entirely a lie). Footsteps on the staircase brought both women to attention, the blonde straightening and stretching, the raven scrubbing her eyes with a hand and bringing herself to her feet. First came the tall, handsome king, royally noble in his white tee and mesh gym shorts, followed by the gangly, teenage apprentice, still clearly trying to keep his eyes open. A knock at the door surprised them all, and Henry was the first to move, darting over to open the door to a pirate bearing a box of assorted pastries.

"Well, isn't this a party," Emma managed between yawns, and Henry grinned, the same grin his grandfather wore, darting over to his mother and flopping on the couch next to her. Her husband approached her and offered her a kiss on the forehead by way of greeting, glancing at her reddened eyes but saying nothing. He did stay close beside her, though, wrapping an arm around her waist and snagging her a cheese danish (one of the few perks of this world) as soon as the box was settled on the table.

Snow stayed out of the general melee that ensued after Hook's—Killian's—arrival, nursing her now cold tea and nibbling her danish, watching the mismatched crew interact. She watched Henry talk enthusiastically to his mother, watched Emma ruffle his hair and tweak his nose and call him "kid" and steal bites of his croissant when he wasn't looking. She saw Charming teasing his grandson, saw the way her husband and her daughter both took bites out of the left sides of their bagels first and held them in one finger and one thumb, both sucked the cream cheese off those fingers after each bite. Mostly, she watched the way Emma lit up like a sunbeam around Killian, watched the way Killian looked at her as though she were the only person in the room, in the world, saw the way their eyes held whenever they looked at each other (Ruby was right, they were so far from subtle it was almost painful).

And with each passing moment, the hard knot of guilt and regret in her chest eased a little bit. It was still there, would probably always be, but seeing her daughter now, in the light of people who loved her, helped quell the ache.

Maybe she hadn't held her daughter's hand at her debutante ball, but she did get to see her first date with Killian. Maybe she hadn't been there when Emma was pregnant, but she watched her become a mother, slowly, even though Emma wasn't sure she wanted it. And maybe Emma hadn't had the life she was born into, but though it was painful to admit, maybe she had the life she was supposed to have.

_And_, Snow thought, relaxing against her husband's chest and cramming the last big bite of her pastry into her mouth, _I'd hate to see where all the rest of us would be without her_.


End file.
